


she ripped my heart and wanted more

by Zoadgo



Series: Kinktober 2018 [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Knife Play, Modern AU, No discussion of safewords, Semi Public Sex, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: Murphy knows all about the bad parts of town; where there are, who runs which sections, what’s currently being fought over. His complete lack of loyalty is all he has to offer, so he has to know all of this, supplying information on everyone to everyone else. Any given gang or thug hates him, but also needs him, so Murphy gets to cross through gangland without any real issues.Once he’s out of the control of the gangs, however, his security is less certain. They call it the dead zone, where it’s a free for all mess, every manner of criminal looking out for themselves. It’s a violent, ever shifting landscape, and Murphy has no reason to go there. There’s no money to be had in intel from there, and no one who has any affiliation or safety with the gangs should ever tread foot in the dead zone.Of course, Murphy never does exactly what he’s supposed to.





	she ripped my heart and wanted more

**Author's Note:**

> [title song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Ew2wl3INJs)
> 
>  
> 
> Day thee of kintober called for **Knife play** and we all know Murphy has a huuuuge knife kink. Boy is a disaster.

Murphy knows all about the bad parts of town; where there are, who runs which sections, what’s currently being fought over. His complete lack of loyalty is all he has to offer, so he has to know all of this, supplying information on everyone to everyone else. Any given gang or thug hates him, but also needs him, so Murphy gets to cross through gangland without any real issues.

Once he’s out of the control of the gangs, however, his security is less certain. They call it the dead zone, where it’s a free for all mess, every manner of criminal looking out for themselves. It’s a violent, ever shifting landscape, and Murphy has no reason to go there. There’s no money to be had in intel from there, and no one who has any affiliation or safety with the gangs should ever tread foot in the dead zone.

Of course, Murphy never does exactly what he’s supposed to.

He’s quiet slipping among the derelict buildings and drifts of trash, but not nearly as quiet as the bare shadow following him. He knows she’s there, though, because for all that the dead zone changes, she’s a constant. Sometimes she covers more ground, sometimes less, but she always has this alley, and she doesn’t take to intruders lightly.

Murphy smiles to himself as he steps on an empty chip bag. Yup, he’s making all kinds of bad decisions today, but you don’t become a low level criminal without forgoing good choices.

He only hears her in the moment before something cold and dangerous lays against his throat, pressing just enough that he can feel the keen edge of the blade. Murphy puts his hands up next to him in surrender, still smiling.

“Is this any way to greet a friend, Emori?” Murphy jokes, and the knife jerks slightly in warning. His heart rate kicks up in response, even though he knows Emori won’t kill him. Well, she probably won’t. Maybe.

“We’re not friends,” Emori hisses, her voice always hushed when she’s out in the open. He’d thought it was just how she always spoke, until that one night when she’d dragged him into the warehouse she calls home. She hadn’t been quiet at all, then.

With a quick jerk of his shoulder, Emori throws Murphy into a brick wall patched with mold and rust stains from leaking pipes. The knife doesn’t leave his throat for a second, and every nerve in Murphy’s body seems to be focused on that point of contact. He’s no stranger to having knives pointed at him, but it’s always a little bit different with Emori. Maybe it’s that he knows what she looks like naked; realistically it’s probably that he’s been desperately attracted to her since the first time she threatened his life, and that left an impact on him.

“I told you what would happen to you if you showed your face around here, John.” Emori glares at him, deep scars catching the dim light, testament to what she’s survived. She slides the blade further up his throat, tucking it under his jaw and pressing until he’s forced to lift his chin, or get cut.

Murphy’s breath comes shallow in his throat at the threat in her words and her action. It’s crazy, but he doesn’t feel afraid at all. No, instead this feels like one of his hyper real dreams. Of course if this were one of those dreams, he’d be wearing a hell of a lot less clothes…

“I’m a slow learner. What, are you gonna punish me for it?” Murphy smirks with his words, taunting a dangerous criminal the way only he can. 

Emori angles the blade and press in with the back of it, narrowing her eyes. It’s a warning without any bite, the steel merely denting his throat. It feels like an electric current against his skin, the tingle of it going to his core and leaving him half hard with nothing more than a dead threat and Emori’s beautiful face to go on.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like this.” Emori sneers, and Murphy catches the quick, furtive glance she makes down towards his crotch. Yes, of course he likes this, but he also knows she gets off on threatening him, so it’s not like he’s being totally selfish here.

“That would be crazy, though, wouldn’t it?” Murphy licks his lips.

Emori holds his gaze for a long, charged moment before speaking, “This is the dead zone, John. There’s no such thing as crazy here.”

“Then what would you do if I did like it?” Murphy challenges. Not an admission, of course, because she might laugh him off if he’s that up front. But this way she gets to be the one in the driver’s seat, and Murphy is more than happy to be taken along for the ride.

“Let’s see, what part do you like? Being pinned against a wall? Being threatened? Or maybe...” Emori shifts the knife and a breath catches in Murphy’s throat, skin tingling where it slides. Her eyes light up, and she pounces on the slight tell like a fox, “It’s this.”

Emori slides the blade up, over Murphy’s jaw, to rest it on his cheek, point dangerously close to his eye. His instincts scream at him to get away from the danger, but even as he turns his head, he can’t deny the electric thrill of it feels insanely good. He swallows hard, breath shaking a little, and Emori grins. It’s a beautiful sight, nearly as potentially deadly as the weapon in her hand.

She drags the knife across his cheek; not slashing, but almost as one would a straight razor. It catches on the stubble residing there, each little tug a spark that lances to Murphy’s groin. His breath catches in his throat, jaw clenching in involuntary reaction to the stimulation. 

“I told you I couldn’t offer you protection,” Emori reminds him, and Murphy shrugs.

“Maybe I don’t need protection.” His voice only wavers slightly, which he considers an accomplishment. Emori snorts derisively at his response.

“Look at you,” Emori points out, slotting a thigh between his legs and grinding at his growing erection. Murphy’s knees almost bucke and he whimpers, holding himself up by sheer force of will given that collapsing would mean slashing his cheek to the bone. “You’re cute, John. But walking around here like this is just asking for trouble.”

Murphy grins around a heated breath, “Maybe trouble is exactly what I was looking for.”

When he licks his lips again - a habit of his, born of anxiety when he was far more young and scared - Emori’s eyes track the movement hungrily. This is how it always goes; death threats, taunts, and then a quick fuck wherever she drags him. Murphy feels the promise of it racing in his veins, heating his skin and making the cold metal on his face stand out even more in contrast.

“If I had time…” Emori trails off, looking to the side and squinting at the end empty end of the alleyway. She frowns a little, and just as Murphy is about to make some smart remark, Emori nods shortly, evidently coming to some sort of a decision.

That decision has her leaning in and licking a stripe up the side of his neck, contact so sudden and unexpected that Murphy jumps a little. It kills whatever words he had been going to say, English language dying on a stuttered breath. His brain is barely functioning when Emori removes the knife from his cheek, only to lay it back on his skin at the highest point of where her tongue had been. She slides it down the sensitized skin, eyes hungry on his face, watching his reaction.

Murphy swallows hard at the location of the blade, slide of metal on flesh exciting. She angles it just enough that he can feel evidence of the deadly edge of it, not that he really needs the proof. He’s seen her sharpening it at least a dozens times, and it’s not like he makes the trip out here that often. The knife is her way of surviving, and she hones and cares for it as any smart person would. The unwavering dedication is why she’s been able to live and even succeed out here for so long.

“You’re a fool, John Murphy,” Emori says, but the words sound affectionate more than anything.

“Never claimed to be anything-” Murphy cuts off with a sharp inhale of breath as the knife moves to curve over his collarbone, “-anything else.”

“I thought you were a survivor,” Emori teases, her eyes locked on the blade as she drags the tip of it down over Murphy’s chest. He’s only wearing a thin shirt beneath his open jacket, so he can feel the point through the fabric even though it doesn’t cut it. Not that Murphy would really complain if she did. All his clothes are shitty, and he’d sacrifice any of them for the thrill that races through him, settling like a sparkler in his groin.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Murphy retorts, and Emori snorts a laugh.

“For now.”

“Talk dirty to me like that and you’ll get me all excited,” Murphy teases, which gets him a head shake and a smile. Emori skips the blade down to lay the flat of it where her thigh had been, over his jeans and, most crucially, over his crotch.

“It seems you’re already excited,” Emori points out entirely accurately. Murphy simply shrugs in response.

With another one of those shakes of her head, Emori slips the knife up under the hem of his shirt, rucking it up and exposing his lower stomach the the chill, clammy night air. She drags it over the slight valleys of the muscles there, dragging and catching of skin ringing alarm in Murphy’s mind that his body interprets in as simple excitement. Every pass of the blade feels like ice, leaving his skin tingling and overly warm in its wake. Emori shifts her hand slightly to drag her thumb behind the path she draws, her rough skin causing an even more enticing contrast.

“This is why you’re always in danger, John. You should be scared, but you’re not, are you?” Emori points out, and Murphy shivers pleasantly at the husky tone of her voice.

“Sure, I’m terrified,” Murphy lies.

“You’re really going to try lying to me when I have you in this position?” Emori cautions, knife dropping to just slide under the waistband of his jeans. Murphy drops his head back against the brick wall, heaving breaths against the frantic beating of his heart.

“Apparently,” Murphy groans, both frightened and aroused at the incredible proximity of her blade to his cock. 

Emori shakes her head in mock disappointment, a small smile playing on her lips, “What am I going to do with you?”

“Well, if you’re looking for suggestions…” Murphy trails off, raising his eyebrows suggestively and earning a laugh for his troubles.

“I think I can guess your suggestions.” Emori looks down at her knife, turning it and sliding the blunted back under his jeans, dragging along the line of his waist. Murphy dgis his fingers into the wall, breathing in sharply.

“Yeah, probably, I’m not that creative,” Murphy admits past clenched teeth, and Emori chuckles, which is one of the most intoxicating sounds in the universe. Yeah, so maybe Murphy’s got a bit of a thing for her. Better that than being one of the guys who fall for the Red Queen back in gangland. Sometimes they find their bodies, but the rumours of what happens with the missing ones make him wonder exactly how crazy people really are.

“Well, lucky I don’t want you for your poetry, then,” Emori smirks, and with that, drops to her knees. 

She pays no mind to the state of the ground, instead focusing on undoing his jeans without releasing the knife or cutting him. It takes no small amount of effort, given that her other hand lays mostly useless against his hip. It's the reason she's out here, rather than back in the relative safety of gangland; her parents couldn't handle the thought of raising a child with a birth defect, so they'd thrown her to the wolves as an infant. She’d told him the story so carelessly, in the same flippant tones Murphy uses to tell people about his mother’s alcoholism and subsequent death. 

Murphy’s mind is turned from such grim thoughts by Emori’s victory over his jeans, a low groan working its way from his throat as she drags them and his underwear down, freeing his erection. The air is a cold shock, but one that is quickly soothed by Emori’s hot breath on him as she leans in. She returns the knife to his skin, teasing his thigh, in the same moment that she drags her tongue up the underside of him.

“Fucking hell,” Murphy grunts, and Emori glares up at him.

“Quiet,” she hisses. 

Murphy raises his hands in surrender, “Right, sorry, I forgot. No noise if one of us is naked.”

“It’s not that hard of a rule to remember, and yet you’re still breaking it,” Emori mutters, and Murphy barely restrains himself from laughing. Instead, to placate her, he mimes locking up his mouth and throwing away the key.

Emori seems satisfied by this even as she rolls her eyes, corner of her mouth quirking into a smile that she can’t quite conceal. She returns her mouth to him, dragging her parted lips along the side of his shaft. Murphy grinds his teeth together to remain quiet; he knows from experience that she absolutely will leave him with his pants around his ankles if he continues to defy that one rule.

When she reaches the head of his cock, Emori takes it into her mouth, lips forming a hot seal. She drags her flattened tongue over the slit there, and the knife on his leg slides higher. The warm, inviting cavern of her mouth is juxtaposed harshly against the cold, unforgiving steel of the blade. It drives Murphy wild, and he wishes they were inside a building right now, so he could let loose the moan that sits heavy in his chest, begging to be let free.

Emori takes him into her mouth slowly, breath puffing lightly from her nose and teasing the flesh ahead of the advancing heat. She takes the majority of him into her mouth with relative ease, stopping only when he nudges the back of her throat. Murphy grips at the wall behind him, lost in the delight of her. As she draws equally slowly back, Emori twists her tongue along the underside of him, truly testing Murphy’s ability to remain silent.

He wants to tangle his hands in her hair, but he won’t risk it. He’s never done it before, so he has no idea how she’d react, and aged brick under his fingernails is a small price to pay for this. She increases the pace gradually, but the danger of her blade spikes as she shifts it to lay inside of his thigh. He knows enough about the anatomy of a man to know that one false move and she could slash his femoral artery, leaving him to bleed out.

And Emori definitely knows that too.

Murphy trembles, caught between the warning there, and the seductive allure of her lips around him. He can’t do anything, trapped entirely at her mercy, and it thrills him in a way nothing else truly does. Murphy chokes back a whimper as Emori bobs her head, a heavy tension settling in his abdomen.

It won’t take him long, but that’s usually a good thing when they do this in back alleys. Even here, in the heart of Emori’s territory, there’s no guarantee they’ll have the place to themselves for long. Emori is constantly engaging in small fights to keep her territory, plus there’s the risk of some drunk tweaker simply wandering the wrong way. And then there’s whatever prompted her to mention a lack of time earlier. So no, it’s definitely not bad that Murphy can feel his climax approaching with some degree of imminency, spurred on by Emori’s skilled attentions and the unfeeling demand of the knife.

Emori seems to feel a similar sort of urgency, working him at a far quicker pace than she normally would. Her intensity drives his pleasure onward, and Murphy finds himself panting breaths through his nose, for fear of what noises he might make if he unclenches his jaw or opens his mouth. His focus on the world narrows down to the hot slide of her lips and tongue, and the knife’s edge digging into his skin, just shy of parting it.

Murphy taps the wall as he feels his orgasm approach, a silent signal they’d worked out after one particularly messy incident that he’d been convinced he was actually going to get stabbed for. Emori reads his cue flawlessly and works him for only a few seconds more before resting with her mouth near the base of him, hollowing her cheeks out with suction.

Murphy holds his breath as he cums, the only way he knows to avoid speaking out on the verge of his pleasure. Emori catches it all in her mouth, ensuring he’s finished the last small tremor of his climax before releasing him. She leans to the side and spits his jizz into a pile of rotten food that’s likely seen worse things than a bit of honest cum.

Murphy barely holds back a chuckle at the thought, breathing haggard as Emori slides her knife back into its hidden sheath, and struggles one handed to get his underwear back up over his softening cock. Murphy would help her, honest he would, but his mind is still a little behind the times. She’s barely managed to conceal him before both of them turn their heads at the sound of encroaching footsteps.

A figure darkens the entrance of the alley, and Murphy squints to make out their features as they simply stand there. Emori doesn’t react to them as a threat, simply sighing sharply and getting to her feet. She dusts off her knees vaguely as Murphy manages to make out who the man is. Otan, Emori’s only partner in her criminal activity, and if rumours are true, her brother.

“It’s not safe for you to come back here, John. Stay away, you know better.” With those words of parting, Emori leaves Murphy gathering his wits and jeans about himself. He chuckles, resting his head heavily against the filthy brick.

“Do I, though?”

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank my beta Etra enough for editing these all, she's incredible especially given I wrote like five stories in two days to try and prep for this month. Please keep her in your prayers, given what trash I send her lol
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> [tumblr](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com)


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